The Other Foot
by Rointheta
Summary: When the Doctor and the TARDIS are infected by a telepathic virus, he locks down the ship and uses the chameleon arch to protect his consciousness. Rose is shocked to realize John Smith believes she's his wife. Scared of playing that part, she has to find a way to keep him at arm's length without pushing him away, keeping the Doctor safe to return to his body.
1. What?

**beta: **aimtoallonsy  
><strong>note #1: <strong>Hello! I wrote the three first chapters of this fic before I went on my hiatus. I recently finished the first draft of my original novel and will now do revisions. So I'm gonna start posting this fic, one chapter per week. And hopefully I'll be done with revisions within 3-4 weeks so I can continue this one. So, you know, read at your own risk. ;)  
><strong>note #2:<strong> Not a John x Rose fic.

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><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 1: What?_

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><p>Jackie nearly drops her empty teacup when the front door bursts open and Rose propels herself into her mother's arms.<p>

"Just play along," Rose whispers into her ear, "and I'll explain everything later, yeah?"

"Play alo–" The sight of the Doctor stuns Jackie into silence. He's wearing jeans and a jumper like a normal bloke – they even fit this time. "What in the world are you wearing?"

"What?" He glances down his body. "What's wrong with this?"

"Mum! John and me had an accident."

"John?"

"Yes?" The Doctor gives Jackie a peck on the cheek. "How are you? Sorry for– Well," he runs his hand through his hair, "Rose is a little upset cos of the amnesia and that."

"She what?" Jackie darts her eyes to Rose, giving her a once-over. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks messy with wiped-away mascara-streaked tears, and her fingers fidget, twirling with rings and picking at the hem of her hoodie.

"Wait, don't you know?" the Doctor says. "I thought she'd phoned–"

"John! Uhm, please, uhm– John," Rose smiles, "please carry our bags into my bedroom. D'you remember where my old bedroom is?"

"Of course. I'm not the one with _retrograde_ amnesia." He beams and presses his lips to her forehead, smile stiffening when she recoils. "Be back in a tick!"

Jackie stares after the Doctor, mouth hanging open, and Rose tugs at her arm for her attention.

"Mum! Listen. He thinks he's John and that we're married, all right? Just play along. Play along. I'll explain everything."

"Is it some sort of kinky roleplaying? Cos then I want no pa–"

"No! Just, just shut up and play along."

"Oh, all right. But you better explain to me what's going on later, young lady."

The Doctor returns, running his eyes over Rose, and a crinkle forms between his brows but smooths out when he meets Jackie's confused gaze and smiles.

"Don't worry, Jackie. She'll be fine. They wouldn't have let her leave the hospital if she–"

"The hospital?" Jackie's eyes widen. "When were you at the hospital?"

Rose shoots her a pointed look. "I'm fine, Mum." She plonks down on the sofa. "Me and… John had an accident and I don't remember anything that's happened since March 2005. Since before me and John met. But I remember everything after the accident."

"And I don't." The Doctor sits down beside Rose and takes her hand. "Rose tells me I've been forgetting things every fifteen minutes, like that film!_Memento_. That we've spent a few days at the hospital after the car crash, then got on the train to come visit you–"

"No, we're moving here, John."

"Right. Moving. I've got a new job! That one I remember. At the university. Which university doesn't quite come to me at the moment, but I'm sure I'll get there." He smiles and taps his temple. "Got a good ol' noggin. Just need some rest. Isn't that so, darling?"

Rose freezes, staring at him with round eyes and open mouth.

"Oh, sorry. So sorry. I'm sorry, Rose. You don't remember me. At all. You remember that I got a new job, for some reason, but you don't remember me. Your own husband. That's-that's–"

"I remember cos you told me," Rose says and juts out her chin with a sigh. "Right after the accident. When you introduced yourself at my hospital bed and told me who you were. And–" She heaves another sigh and rubs her eyes. "John, I'm knackered. This is just too much. I– Can you please run down to the shop and get me some crisps? You remember where the shop is, yeah?"

"But," he glances at Jackie, then leans in closer to Rose, "I don't want to leave you, darling. Not when you're–"

"Stop saying that! I don't even know who you are!" Rose scoots away from him, but stops right away and shakes her head, eyes closed. "I'm sorry." She takes a deep breath and meets his concerned eyes. "You seem like a lovely bloke, you really do, and I'm sure I– That we're really happy and–"

"We are. Right, Jackie?"

For a second or two, no words come to mind and Jackie flits her eyes between a sincere looking Doctor and a Rose who is trying to communicate something by twitching her eyebrows. Jackie shrugs and smiles. "Never seen two people more in love in my life!"

The Doctor nods. "See?"

"Yeah, well, I just need a mo' with my mum, all right? Can you please get me some crisps?"

"Oh, and could you pick up some milk too, sweetheart," Jackie asks when he stands up.

"Certainly. Why don't I pick up a little of this and that? Give you two some time to talk. Reckon I could cook us dinner tonight. How's curry sound?"

Jackie lifts her eyebrows in astonishment, expecting him to crack a joke or take it back, but he just stands calmly, waiting for her to comment. A smile spreads on her face and she gets up for her purse and hands him money and her mobile. "Sounds lovely. Now, off you go. Take my mobile and we'll give you a ring if we need you."

The door has barely closed behind him before Rose jumps to her feet and moves over to the window, staring out at the courtyard whilst nibbling on her thumbnail. Then she whirls around, words shooting out of her like from a machine-gun.

"Mum, I'm freaking out. Oh, my god. I don't know what to do! He thinks I'm his _wife_? Wife! I even have a ring. Look!" She thrust out her left hand, golden wedding band adorning her ring finger. "It's not even a proper ring. Bloody bio-damper. You'd think the TARDIS at least could've given me a–" Rose stops, blinks. "Oh, my god! What am I saying? Like I care about that!"

"Rose, sweetheart. Sit down and I'll make you a nice cuppa. It'll help you calm you down."

"Tea, tea, tea. Your bloody solution to everything."

"It saved him, didn't it? Now, sit down. I'll be right back."

When Jackie returns, Rose sits on the sofa with a throw pillow hugged to her chest, fingers twirling the corner-tassels round and round.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jackie says with a sigh, sitting down next to her daughter and handing her the cup. "What happened?"

Rose curls her hands around the cup and brings it to her lips but doesn't take a sip. She only inhales, breathing out through her mouth. "I don't know. The TARDIS caught something. Some sort of virus. Feasts on telepathic brain waves or something? I don't know! He only had seconds to explain. She was holding it off, but they're bonded, yeah? They share this connection, so he had to change who he was to protect himself. His mind. Had to become human. Lock away all his memories, himself, in this."

She digs out something from her pocket and shows it off by cradling it in her palm. It's a golden fob watch engraved with circles in irregular patterns, pretty in an understated sort of way.

"What, you're telling me himself's in that thing?" Jackie reaches out to touch it, but Rose pockets it right away. "How'd he do that, then?"

"Dunno how it works, but it does. So don't touch it. And don't open it. If it opens, he becomes the Doctor again and we can't do that until the virus is completely gone from the TARDIS."

"How long's that take?"

"I don't know. Could take months, he said."

"But how d'you know when to open the watch?"

"I don't." Rose purses her lips, chin trembling. "He didn't have time to explain. Oh, Mum it–" She exhales sharply. "All I know is… He doesn't remember the Doctor. He thinks he's human, right? A proper human. But he has enough residual awareness to feel safe with me and you. Like, he knows deep down that he knows us, that he _trusts_ us. But we can't be on board the TARDIS as long as she's fighting the virus. She fixed everything for us, though. Just materialised two bags at the doors, and then he changed his clothes and said she'd give him new memories once the transformation was done and he pulled out that machine, that chameleon arch, and, oh, my god, Mum."

Rose clasps a trembling hand over her mouth, shaking her head, and Jackie moves closer and puts an arm around her shoulders.

"Take your time, love."

Rose nods, swallows. "It was _horrible_," she whispers, fidgeting with her bottom lip. "He just screamed and screamed. I've seen him hurt before, but never like that. Never seen him react like that to anything. And I couldn't do anything to help him. I just stood there, Mum. Just stood there and watched him get tortured! And then he passed out. I had to drag him outside and he was so _heavy_ and I didn't know what to do!"

"Oh, Rose, c'mere." Jackie pulls her shaken daughter closer, stroking her hair to comfort her. "Do you want a break? Just watch telly for a bit?"

Rose pulls away, shaking her head and drying her nose with her sleeve tugged down over her hand. "No. I need to tell you everything before he comes back. Uh, where was I? Right. So, yeah, I checked our bags whilst I waited for him to wake up. Found an envelope with the information about his job – he's a history professor, apparently – and then he woke up. And, uhm, he, he called me darling and wife and I just panicked. Dropped the papers and the rings fell out, and that made me panic even more. All I could think was, if he thinks I'm his wife, he's gonna expect me to kiss him and sleep in the same bed and– Oh god, and _shag_ him!"

"Oh, sweetheart. That's not so bad, though, is it?"

Rose huffs, gaping at Jackie. "What? I can't just _sleep_ with him. What's wrong with you?"

"What? It's not like you haven't– Oooh. I get it." Jackie nods sagely. "It's like cheating, isn't it? He's not your boyfriend, he just _looks_ like your boyfriend. I get it now. But Rose, don't you think the Doctor would understand? Under the circumstances."

"What? He's not my boyfriend!"

"What you mean he's not your boyfriend. Of course he is!"

"No, he's not. Definitely not. I don't even think he…" Rose shrugs. "You know."

"What? Not even a little bit? Like, getting drunk on alien drinks and fooling around and that? Or, oh, I don't know, 'Help,'" Jackie lays the back of her hand against her forehead, gazing into the distance, "'I was almost eaten by a werewolf. I'm so distraught! I think you better shag me! I need the comfort. I need to feel alive!' Nothing like that?"

"Oh, my god," Rose says, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips and her eyes sparkle, and Jackie breathes out in relief over her silly joke working. "No, we've not shagged, Mum. I mean, we've kissed a few times." Rose follows the swirly pattern on the throw pillow with her finger, features softening. "Not, like, romantically or anything. It sort of just happens sometimes, living this life. You know, like when he needed to kiss the vortex out of me."

Jackie snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure that was the only way. Does he kiss his ship too, then, when he talks to it?"

"It's different. They're bonded. Oh, it doesn't matter! We could've kissed a million times, it still doesn't make me want to snog that John!"

"_That_ John? I think he seemed like a nice bloke. He's gonna cook us dinner! And he's fit, too, now that he's human. You could do worse, I reckon."

Rose's cheeks expand with air, and she releases it in a huff of a laugh. "You can't seriously suggest that I have a relationship with him."

"Why not? If the Doctor's not your boyfriend, and you have to spend god knows how many months with John, why not? Not saying you have to jump him first chance you get, but you can keep an open mind, at least, right? You deserve it, Rose. Don't know how you can stand it, spending years with that man in that box of his and never getting any loving. But John loves you, thinks you're married–"

"Loves me? Oh, come on! You mean the TARDIS planted fake memories into his head to make him _think_ he loves me just so I can take care of him and make sure he doesn't run off with the Doctor's body. Yeah, wow, how romantic, Mum." Rose rolls her eyes. "Hold me whilst I swoon."

"It has to come from somewhere, don't it? You said it yourself. Residual awareness and all."

"Honestly? I don't really care right now. Cos it ain't him and I don't know what to do. I can handle him changing every cell in his body, cos then he's still the same. It's still him, in here," she touches her chest, "but this? It's just some loved-up, made-up bloke wearing the Doctor's skin! And it's weird!"

"It's not _that_ bad. He's just a little bit different, that's all."

"No. I've seen this before. Seen these aliens, these creatures, wearing other people's bodies. The Slitheen, the Gelth. He's not the Doctor. He's a, he's a_thing_. I don't want him touching me. It gives me the creeps, holding his hand when it's not _him_. It's not him, mum. I can see it in his eyes. The things he says. The Doctor's gone and I don't want–" She lets out a shaky breath, eyes brimming with tears. "But I don't have a choice, do I? If I push him away… I had to say I have amnesia! Or he'd think I was mental, not wanting my own husband to touch me. But if I do let him… What's gonna happen when the Doctor's back? Don't you get it? He's gonna hate himself. He's gonna feel like he, like he forced himself on me. I don't understand! Why would the TARDIS do this to us?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jackie sighs and gives her daughter a sympathetic smile, brushing her hand over Rose's arm, "cos of what you said, I suppose. You have to take care of him for months. She had to make sure he wouldn't leave you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Rose," Jackie shuffles closer and scoops up Rose's hand, catching her eyes, "we'll fix this. I won't let him hurt my little girl. I promise."

Rose sniffles, nods, listening intently to her mum.

"We have a guest room, don't we? I'll just insist he sleeps in there whilst you're recuperating from your amnesia. That I don't want him to pressure you. I'll talk to him on my own and all."

Rose looks up, mouth curved into a faint, hopeful smile. "Yeah?"

"Yes! I'm your mum, for goodness' sake. When he comes back, take a shower or something, and I'll make sure to have a nice conversation with him, mother-in-law to son-in-law."

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><p><em>tbc<em>


	2. I'm Fine

**thanks to _resile_ and _aimtoallonsy_ for reading it through****  
><strong>

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><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 2 - I'm Fine_

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><p>Rose leans against the doorjamb, watching professor John Smith sleep in her mum's guestroom with her gran's old quilt draped over his legs. Unless Rose counts the healing coma, she has never seen the Doctor sleep, and she's avoided the guestroom since John moved in per her mum's nonnegotiable encouragement. But today, the last day of his first work week, as soon as he came back to the flat, he went for a kip with the door open.<p>

She didn't mean to watch him, just happened to walk past on her way to ask Mr. Stevens next door for a cup of sugar, and her legs stopped on their own.

Would the Doctor look like that, all peaceful and still?

John snorts in his sleep and rolls over on his side, open-mouthed face smushed into the pillow. Rose closes her eyes. It's like cheating, in a way, like skipping ahead without permission. The Doctor had no choice in this either, and she's seeing his body in situations he'd never allow her to see him. Asleep. _Farting_. Sporting some serious morning breath. Popping his jeans buttons open after eating too much. Cranky before his first cup of coffee, and less-than-coherent close to bedtime on a work night.

And walking to his room in only a towel, hair wet, and shoulders and chest spotted with water droplets. She wasn't aware of ogling until he broke the spell by shooting her a brilliant smile and puffing out his chest, the smug git. It made her cheeks burn, and she ducked back into her bedroom with a badly muffled squeak.

That evening, he came home from work with two shopping bags containing matching dressing gowns, one for him and one for her. Was that something he thought they did? Wearing matching dressing gowns in the mornings whilst drinking their coffee and eating their toast. If she could, she'd have a serious talk with the TARDIS about the memories she'd planted in his mind.

Rose sighs, then subconsciously adjusts her breathing to the rise and fall of John's chest. They have months of _domestic bliss_ ahead of them. Months. That's vague and nice. Can be fourteen of them, for all she knows. And what will they have gone through when he finally becomes himself again? What if she can't make him stay without giving in? What if she has to–

She sucks in a deep breath, squashing that thought, and turns around and walks back to the kitchen, placing the empty cup on the table when she sits down opposite her mum.

"I didn't go," she says, putting her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just…" She sighs, staring out the window. "It's like living with a ghost. And I have no idea for how long. He left me. Again. And this stranger's walking around in a Doctor-suit, reminding me–" She pauses, lips twitching whilst she with deep, calm breaths fights down the lump forming in her throat. "I'm fine."

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><strong>.<strong>

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><p>He might not be a Time Lord, but the Doctor's human placeholder has still managed to turn back time and give back Jackie the daughter she lost for a whole year. Once more trapped in a small flat and a relationship she doesn't want, Rose wakes up bored, spends her days slightly peeved, and goes to bed listless. Though, whilst she used to take out her frustration on Mickey, she never does on John. To him, she's nothing but polite and friendly.<p>

Polite, friendly, and impersonal.

They spend most days apart. He's at the university, and Rose has gone back to retail, part time. She shops and cleans, and he plans and cooks all meals. Jackie almost wants to kiss that box for giving him the skill, because she's never eaten better in her life. He even insists on eating at the table like a family, instead of in front of the telly like Rose and Jackie always used to do, and jumps into conversation as soon as they're seated. He talks about his day, asks Rose questions about hers, and does his best with jokes and silliness to make her laugh.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes she starts relaxing around him, but then he tugs on his ear or says 'brilliant' with the widest smile on his face or giggles when she flirts despite herself, and it's as if he'd slapped her in the face. She jolts, withdraws, and he has to start over again.

He and Jackie grow closer, though. When they talk, his brain taps in on the Doctor's memories and fills in the blanks and makes sense of them, transform them into human equivalents. Or maybe the TARDIS did that. Jackie's not sure exactly how it works, but for her the only real difference, besides the lack of alien nonsense and the name change, is that the Doctor's become more open and caring. He never complains about Rose, patience of an angel that man, but Jackie sees the longing looks he casts after her daughter, and how the shadows under his eyes deepen with each passing day.

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><strong>.<strong>

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><p>"Jackie?" John knocks at her open door, and she puts down the laundry she's folding on her bed. "Can I come in?"<p>

"Of course. What is it?"

"I think– Heh." He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at the bathroom door, which is dampening the sounds of a showering Rose belting out a catchy pop song. "Yeah, so… I think I need to make Rose fall back in love with me." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then shuffles a couple of steps into the room. "I thought that it would come back to her, you know? Reckoned she'd just feel it. Just feel that I'm right, somehow. That I'm hers. But–" He exhales, scratching his head. "I don't think she likes me very much, does she?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Jackie tilts her head to the side and gives him one of her patented Mum-looks that makes him want to throw himself into her arms and cry about the mother he never knew. "'Course she does. It's just hard, being told that you're married to this stranger and–"

"I know, I know. I know all that. But I've sat idly by for a whole month, just letting her glide further away from me, and I'm not doing that anymore!" He nods and tugs down the hemline of his jumper. "I'm going to make my wife fall in love with me again."

"Oh. Uh… That makes sense?"

He furrows his brow, regarding his mother-in-law. "You sound… unsure. Don't you think it's a good idea? Because I thought I knew Rose Marion Tyler better than anyone. Er, except yourself, of course. You're her mother. You obviously know her very well. Which is why I came to you. Er," he moves closer, "so, Jackie, we've always been close, right?"

She blinks. "Suppose."

"Oh. Oh, I see." He backs up a couple of steps, chest tightening. "Was I wrong about that too? Is that what's going on here? None of you want me here, do you? That's what's happening here. Oh, this is not good. This is–"

"Oh, don't be daft. C'mere, John." She moves a stack of neatly folded laundry to the side, gesturing at him to sit down beside her. He complies with a sigh, head hanging. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"Really? Are you sure?" he says, pouting far too much for a person his age, but Jackie just smiles and nods. "Oh, I don't know what to do! I feel so powerless. I just want her to remember me. I just want my wife back." He sighs again. "Maybe I should call the doctor. What hospital were we staying at? My memory's still fuzzy. Yeah, they prob–"

"Or you could ask her on a date," Jackie says, patting him on the knee.

"What? Oooh. A date!" He shoots to his feet and spins around, thrusting his index finger in the air. "Yes! _Brilliant_ idea. You, Jackie Tyler, are a genius. A date it is. Ooh." He blinks, fumbling after something to steady himself, and grabs ahold of Jackie's shoulder. "Headrush. I think I got a little over-excited."

Jackie shakes her head, chuckling under her breath. "Now, go on. Plan your date and stop bothering me."

"Yes, ma'am!" He rushes over to the door and, drumming a little beat against the door frame, winks at her. "Good talk, _mum_."

"Call me that again and I'll kill ya."

"Yep! No problemo."

Rose exits the bathroom right then, wrapped up in her fluffy, white dressing gown, wet hair spilling over the collar. The sight of her, all pink and squeaky clean and wearing something _he_ bought her, warms him inside and he doesn't realise that he's moving in for a kiss until he sees her eyes widening with fright.

He jumps back, mumbling an excuse, and scurries back to his room with his heart pounding in his chest. This is not going to get him down. He has plans to make! 

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><strong>.<strong>

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><p>John paces the hallway, waiting for Rose to emerge for their first date since the accident. The idea came to him when he walked past a shop window with the perfect dress on display, and he bought the garment and planned out the rest of the date in order to hopefully spark old memories.<p>

She gave him a funny look earlier when he handed over the box, which only served to make his smile broader. The Rose he knew, _his_ Rose, would've teased him about it, talking about how she could shop for herself, how she _worked_ in a shop, and did he even know her size? But not this Rose. No, this Rose narrowed her eyes, darting them down for a peek at the box's contents before meeting his again, and they got stuck in some sort of staring match between a sceptic frowner and a nervous grinner.

Then Jackie cleared her throat and nudged Rose into her bedroom, and John rushed to the guest room to don his best suit.

"Okay, I'm ready."

He snaps his head up at the sound of her voice, then lets out a slow whistle. "Blimey," he says, roaming his eyes over her form, then tears his gaze away when she squirms. "Sorry. I just– I mean, I knew you'd look beautiful but– Ahem." He tugs at his collar. "Right! Ready, you said. Ready. Yep! Let's go, then, shall we, milady?" He proffers her his arm, and she gives him a tight smile, curling her arm around his. "Don't worry, Jackie." He beams at his mother-in-law, backing towards the front door. "I'll have her home before midnight."

Later, in the taxi, where they sit opposite one another, knees bumping together at every turn the car makes, he gestures at Rose's dress. "Sorry about earlier. I wouldn't buy you a dress normally but–"

"You bought me a dressing gown."

"Er, yes. But, ehm, I bought one for me and I couldn't very well come back to the flat… Oh. You didn't like it? I thought– I thought you'd like it but yeah of course that was not bright of me. I see that now. I took for granted that you'd–"

"I loved it." She smiles but it's still not a Rose Tyler smile, and he only gives a half-hearted one in return. "Honest. Use it all the time, don't I?"

"You do!" He gives her a wide grin, but it slips when she only stares back at him with her eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Well, you were telling me about why you bought this," she says, gesturing at her dress.

"Right! I was. You are correct. Yes, I had an ulterior motive. One I didn't want to bring up in front of your mother."

Rose's eyes widen, chin drops, and she tugs the hemline of her skirt farther down her thighs. The implication of his words occurs to him then, and he sputters, backtracks, waving his hands in front of him as though the movement can erase his clumsy phrasing.

"No, no, no! That was _not_ what I meant. Oh, blimey. No, no. I just didn't want her to– I just wanted this moment to be for us, if you were to remember. Don't you, ehm, don't you recognise it, Rose? The dress, I mean. The dress. I chose it because it looks like– Yes, it's shorter, definitely shorter, but the neckline and the colours and–"

"The Victorian dress," she whispers, looking down her body. "It looks like–" She bites her bottom lip, pink tinting her cheeks.

"You remember?" He unbuckles his belt and moves over to the empty seat next to her, clenching his hands into fist to prevent himself from touching her. She always shudders when he touches her – and not in a good way, not in the way she used to. "Rose, do you remember Cardiff?"

"Uh, no. I–" She frowns. "No. Sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."

"You did remember," he says, trembling with expectations and excitement and hope. "Even if it was just a glimpse, for just one second. You did remember."

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe."

She looks out the window and he hops back to his seat, fastening the belt again.

"Do you remember anything else?" He tries to keep the pathetic, hopeful tone out of his voice, tries to keep it steady, but even had he succeeded in that, his fidgeting fingers would've betrayed his nervousness. Not that she looks.

"No. I dunno." She closes her eyes for a short moment, taking measured breaths through her nose. "Snow?" she whispers, sounding so small. "I wanna say snow."

"Yes! Yes. It was–" He swallows, dials down his excited reaction. "It was our third date, and we were walking down the street and I had you on my arm, the most beautiful woman in all of Cardiff, in all the universe, and you were with me – with _me_ – and the snow fell around us and it was so cold, but you were so excited anyway. The cold couldn't touch you. Not Rose Tyler. And I knew..."

"What?" she says, breath forming condensation on the window glass.

"I knew that," he leans over the gap between them so he can it to her softly without being drowned out by traffic, "I'd fallen for you."

"What?" She turns to look at him, brows drawn together and eyes glossy, mouth twisted in a way that tells him she's far from pleased with his confession.

"Nothing. Sorry. I– I'm sorry, Rose. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"It's fine." She inhales deeply, letting it out in a loud sigh, and stares out the window again. "I'm fine."

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><strong>.<strong>

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><p>That night he lies in bed for a long time, watching shadows play over the ceiling. He can't fault Rose for her behavior. He came on too strong, started too big, always too eager, that John Smith.<p>

He'll do better next time.

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><strong>.<strong>

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><p>Whilst the first date consisted of stale chatting, a quickly finished three course meal, and a silent taxi ride home, the second is spent in a dark cinema watching a film Rose has wanted to see for weeks. She lights up when he shows her the tickets, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from boasting about how he pays attention to those things. She'll remember soon enough.<p>

He buys them a large popcorn to share. It's a cheap trick, yes, but every time their hands brush, every time he gets butterflies in his stomach, it's worth it. Maybe she gets butterflies too. He glances at her through the corner of his eye, but she's munching on the snack, cheeks puffed out, attention directed at the screen. Towards the end of the film, he contemplates whether he should pull the yawn-move too and wrap his arm around his shoulder, but best not. He shouldn't push his luck.

He does suggest that they walk home, though. A nice stroll through London now that spring's approaching, softening the evening chill. She doesn't hold his hand but accepts his coat after some cajoling when he notices the goosebumps on her arms. She chats about the film, too – happily so, in fact – and even gives him a couple of genuine, warm smiles.

That night he lies in bed for a long time as well, but it's the excitement coursing through his veins that prevents him from sleeping. 

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><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p>Date number three is a quickly interrupted visit to a museum. She always used to love that, ambling with him through exhibits, listening to her husband, the history professor, running his gob about the different displays. Much better than a tour guide, he is. But they've barely been there for twenty minutes before the distance between them becomes palpable. It's been going so well, these past weeks since the dating started, and he doesn't hesitate to suggest that they go to the cinema again. A relieved smile curves her lips, and he vows to himself to never ever make any references to the past or assume she likes something she used to like.<p>

Although he'd already planned to take her to their old chippy for date four, he now brings her to a new Greek restaurant. Old Rose hated Greek food – feta cheese and anything made with or from olives in particular – but new Rose doesn't say a peep about his choice. When their food arrives and there are olives in her salad and she moves them over to his plate without thinking, he doesn't say a peep either. But he can't tamper down his pleased smile.

Maybe if he continues like this, all smooth and charming and easy-going, he'll get a kiss by the eighth date. Tenth perhaps. Or at least a hug. A hug would be nice.

He'd live off a hug for ages. 

* * *

><p><strong><em>tbc<em>**


	3. Not Real

**unbeta'd**

* * *

><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 3: Not Real_

* * *

><p>Jackie swings her legs over the side of the bed and yawns, stretching out her arms in front of her. Her throat's dry and itchy, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.<p>

"Oh, bollocks," she mutters, padding to the kitchen for a glass of water. She always gets a cold when spring turns to summer, every bleeding year.

When her head feels like this, all heavy and thudding, her eyes are sensitive to light. But although most of the kitchen lies in darkness, the streetlight streaming in through the windows is enough for her to navigate to the sink without turning on the lamp.

"Hi, Jackie," John says softly.

She knows it's him, she _knows_, but still can't control her body's reaction and has to dig her fingers into the doorframe to keep herself upright.

"Blimey, you scared me! What the hell are you doing in here in the dark anyway?"

"Can't sleep. And you?"

She walks over to the sink on shaky legs. "Think I'm coming down with something. You should probably stay away."

"Really? Then sit down!" He's by her side instantly, ushering her to one of the chairs by placing his hands on her upper arms. "I'll make you a cuppa."

"Oh, you're an angel, you are."

"Well, maybe a little. Chamomile?"

"Lovely. Why can't you sleep, then?"

"Oh, you know."

He shrugs, staying silent whilst preparing the tea. By the time he gives her the cup, her eyes have adjusted well to the dark, and she can see him clearly when he returns to the counter and leans against it, arms folded over his chest and hands stuck under his armpits.

"I have nightmares," he says. "Or just dreams. Really vivid ones that makes falling back asleep a tad difficult."

"Really?" She blows on the steamy tea to cool it down, then takes several small sips to wet her dry throat. "Does Rose know?"

"No." He sighs. "People usually don't wanna hear about your dreams, do they?"

"Suppose not."

"I've had them ever since the accident. I looked it up online but didn't find anything useful. The images… They're not related to the accident at all. But I think…" He emits a hollow laugh. "I think I know what the problem is. It's not, ehm–" He pauses and when he resumes talking, his voice is gravelly and hushed. "It's not going very well for me, in terms of my marriage. And it's not because of the amnesia. Let's be honest here, Jackie. Rose doesn't_want_ to remember."

Mouth curved into a frown, he lifts his shoulders, then lets them drop with a sigh. "We've been on nine dates now. And there's no progress at all. None. None whatsoever. And I've stayed clear of memories. Just focussed on the present, and her and me, here and now. And I still love her. I really do. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met, whilst she wouldn't look at me twice. And the funny part is, the funny part…"

He licks his lips and cards a hand through his hair, staring in front of him without seeing. "The funny part is that in my dreams, not the nightmares, mind, n the regular dreams, she loves me. She _loves_ me, Jackie. Unabashedly. Unreservedly. Just absolutely and completely and– And I keep her at arm's length. It's as though dream-me is punishing her for not loving me in real life. Why would I do that? Why–" His voice breaks and his body jolts, and he draws in a big, trembling breath. "Why doesn't she love me anymore? Why doesn't she want to? Why? I don't understand. We were so happy!"

He breaks down crying, wet, heaving sobs muffled by his hands covering his face.

Jackie rushes over and wraps her arms around him, stroking his hair when he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, "it's gonna be okay."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. But you gotta start talking to her."

He sniffs. "She doesn't want to talk to me. Not about things that matter."

"You gotta tell her. Tomorrow after your date, yeah? And if you don't, I will. So it's up to you, mister. You hear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, I'm gonna drink my tea and go to bed cos I'm knackered. And tomorrow I'll stay with Bev. Don't care if I'm sick. I'm staying so you two can have a proper talk."

* * *

><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p>John and Rose return to a quiet, dark flat. She kicks off her high heels and slumps down on the sofa, rubbing her swollen soles. He heads into the kitchen to make them some tea. He prefers to make it, because sometimes when Rose is tired, she prepares it all wrong and hands him a cup with too much sugar and no lemon. Was that how Jimmy took his tea? Or perhaps Mickey. Doesn't matter whom, really; it hurts all the same.<p>

A note from Jackie hangs on the fridge, and he brings it with him when he returns to the living room with a tray of tea and biscuits. He gives the note to Rose, who, after quickly reading it, crumples it into a little ball. She rolls it between her palms whilst he dips a biscuit in his tea, sucking off the moist bits before dunking it again.

They spent the night watching yet another film, and on the way home he bought her the first gelato of the season. It was nice. It's always nice. _Nice_. He curls his lips in resentment even thinking the word.

Rose sighs, drops the ball of paper on the table, and reaches for the remote, but he stops her by placing his hand on her arm. She stiffens but doesn't pull away, but whilst he used to think 'always something', he's come to see it for what it is: she's allowing him to touch her, yes, but she still doesn't_welcome_ it. Her skin scorches him and he snatches his hand back, scrubbing the tips of his fingers with his thumb.

"I want to talk," he says.

"All right."

"Rose–" He's rehearsed his speech in front of the mirror, all the while hoping he wouldn't have to use it, hoping this date would change everything. He holds lectures all the time without difficulty, but now his heart pounds in his chest and his fingers twitch and he can't remember a word of it and is it really warm in there or is it just him?

Tugging at his collar, he tries again. "Rose. As you know, it's already May. Er, barely a month left of the summer term. And I've been, well, er, nursing this idea that perhaps we could've gone on a holiday but, ehm…" He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to visualise the speech in his mind's eye. "Oh, to hell with it. Look. We've been on ten dates now, and there's really no difference, is there? You don't want me anymore. And that's… fine. Heartbreaking," he says, and his voice nearly breaks too, "but fine. You're under no obligations to love me again. And maybe it's time I accept that."

"What?" Her eyes flit back and forth between his. "What are you on about?"

He gestures between them. "We've been doing this for a few months now, and it's clearly not working. So… I've been debating with myself whether– I just think that maybe, maybe I should… leave."

"What?"

"Not… permanently. Unless you want me to, of course. If you do, I'll leave. We'll get a divorce and I'll leave and—"

"No!"

"No?"

"No!" She reaches for him with trembling hands, and he scoots closer. "Please don't leave."

"Rose, I–" He breathes out a smile and resists the urge to cup her cheek. "I'm not gonna lie. This is wonderful to hear. It's brilliant! But it's also… You don't act like you actually want me here, and maybe it's time for me to let you go. Let you be whoever you want to be. Live the life you want, instead of being burdened by this boring old history professor who expects you to love him."

"You're not _that_ old." She rolls her eyes, hint of a smile on her face. "Believe me."

"Point still stands. Not saying I want a divorce, but maybe if I find my own place and let you get your memories back all on–"

"No! No, I don't want you to. Please don't." She takes his hand, squeezing it. "Please stay. _Stay_."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes." She nods, looking into his eyes. "Yes, that's what I want."

"Then are you gonna let me in?"

"Yeah."

"You're not just saying that, are you? Cos," he swallows, blinking away the tears prickling his eyes, "it's killing me. You looking at me like, like I'm a nuisance."

"What? That's not how I look at you."

"Yeah, it is."

Her face falls. "Oh… I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I don't think you're a nuisance. You're lovely!" She takes a deep, shuddering breath, mouth contorting with a held back sob. "It's just really hard. I'm _exhausted_."

"Oh, darling," he spreads his arms open wide, "c'mere."

She sniffles and curls up in his embrace, crying into his shoulder whilst he rocks her in a lulling rhythm. His shirt's soaked through by the time she's calmed down, but she lingers in his arms and that makes him hold her even tighter.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "Didn't realise how hard this is for you. Should've known, but you never say, Rose. You never tell me what you're thinking, how you're feeling. You never tell me any of it."

"I know."

She's quiet for a beat, then her shoulders shake and he strokes her back to comfort her. Poor thing, struggling to remember her two missing years whilst her husband just feels sorry for himself. Shame on you, John Smith. Shame on you. But then he hears soft chuckles, not sobs, and pulls back.

"Oi," he says and pokes her in the ribs, "are you laughing?"

"No."

She throws her head back with a good, deep belly-laugh and even though he has no idea what's so funny, he can't help but join in. So they sit huddled together, giggling off months worth of pent up tension and stress until they collapse against one another on the sofa.

"Oh, my god." She sits up straight, wiping her eyes. "I needed that."

"Yes, reckon you did," he says, and catches, by swiping his thumb over her jawline, a tear just about to fall.

He realises his mistake when the wetness meets his skin, but Rose doesn't recoil like she usually does, and it makes him aware of how closely they're actually seated. His mouth turns dry and his whole body goes rigid in an effort of keeping completely still lest he scares her off.

"You okay?" she asks, leaning forward, almost over his lap, to catch his eye. "You seem a little… stiff?"

"I'm fine, Rose." He exhales and forces his body go lax, slouching against the backrest. "Reckon I needed that too."

"Yeah. So, uhm," she brings her thumb to her mouth, biting at the nail, "does that mean you'll stay, then?"

"Yeah, of course I will. If that's what you want. But–" He scrubs his hands over his face, then runs his fingers over his chin. "Oh, this is probably not the time to say it."

"No, it's all right. What is it?"

"Well," he says, hands falling to his lap, "you know I've always loved your mother dearly, as if she were my own, but–" He stops when Rose snorts. "What?"

"Nothing," she says through a chuckle. "Go on."

"Okay. Well, as much as I love Jackie – and I really do, don't get me wrong. She's been a godsend these past few months. But it's getting a little taxing, not having a place of our own."

"Oh, my god, I know." Rose lolls her head back with a groan. "It's been quite the challenge, living with my mum again."

"What?" It comes out dry and hoarse, and she freezes, staring at him without blinking. "You lived with your mum when we met. Rose?" He catches her hand, stroking the back of it. "Do you remember something?"

She shakes her head. "Sometimes stuff like that just pops out. Dunno what I'm saying."

"That's probably a good thing, though, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Did the doctors say anything about–"

"Yeah, that it would happen. That it usually happens. So, I mean," she plays with her earring, shrugs one shoulder, "getting a flat, then. What, you wanna see if there's anything available here? I think we can ask–"

"No, I mean buying one, of course. One where we can, you know, build a life, a home. Big enough for…" He tilts his chin down, giving her a meaningful look.

She tilts her chin down too, mirroring his expression, then straightens up with a sharp intake of breath. "Kids! You mean kids."

"Yeah. You want kids, don't you? Some day? Not now, obviously, but some day, years into the future."

"Sure. Yeah. Absolutely." She scrunches up her face like a little bunny and gives him a firm nod. "Love kids! Want a whole bunch of them. But, uh, buying a flat. You need money for that, yeah?"

"I have money."

"What?"

"Yeah, in, ehm, that account I have? I'm sure I have an account full of money. John Smith has money. Yes. I'm sure of it. Where did I get all that money?" He knits his brow, reaching deep into his mind for the fleeting memories of… _something_. "Inheritance? Must be. Mm. Inheritance. Because... I'm the only one left? I don't have any family, have I?"

Rose shakes her head.

"I only have you, don't I? It's blurry. Sometimes. When I think about life before you. Wait. How did you know I'm alone?"

"Mum told me," Rose says, voice raspy.

"Ah, yes of course. Do you know why it's all blurry? Did the doctors say anything about that? Shouldn't we go back? For a check up? I shouldn't have trouble remembering my past, should I?"

"No. No, they said they couldn't do anything else. And, yeah, that was common. With your particular… head trauma? We should just wait. It'll come back, John." She reaches over and lays her hand over his, brushing his thumb with hers. "I promise."

He beams, watching their hands. "Okay."

"And, uhm, about the flat and that. Can I just talk to mum first about a couple of things?"

"Of course! Take all the time you need. No problemo!"

* * *

><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sitting at the kitchen table, Rose turns over the fob watch in her hands, inspecting it as best as she can without opening it. Over two months have passed, but it looks the same: a tad dented and like it could use a good polish. It feels the same, too, gives her the same kind of tingling buzz the TARDIS has since they joined forces and saved the Doctor from the Dalek fleet. A small side effect, the Doctor had said: slightly elevated telepathic ability.<p>

She's considered checking the sonic for some sort of setting, but what if she messes it up? She checks the psychic paper too, daily. Maybe there'll be a message. But so far…

"Where's himself, then? Morning jog?" Her mum places a Starbucks bag on the table and settles down opposite her.

"Yeah, he left, like, ten minutes ago. Did you have fun with Bev?"

"Yeah, we watched _Pretty Woman_ and drank wine," Jackie says, picking up a wad of paper napkins and two tall coffee cups from the bag, handing one to Rose. "Looks like you're trying to stare a hole into that thing. You can't feel him, can you? I still don't get how that works. How can he be inside a watch?"

"Dunno. I'm trying to sense something or whatever, but it ain't working." Rose flips the lid of her cup open, peers inside, and takes a sniff of the sweet-smelling coffee drink. "What is it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jackie waves her hand and Rose presses the lid back on. "Something complicated and long with half and non and whip and god knows what else. Bev recommended it."

Rose nods and takes a sip. This early in the morning, it's almost too sweet, all caramelly and rich from cream, but she drinks a couple of mouthfuls anyway. "John wants us to get a flat."

Jackie's eyebrows fly high on her forehead. "Does he, now?"

"Yeah. Dunno what to do. I can't risk scaring him away. But getting a flat together? You know what that means."

"What?"

"Sharing a bedroom." Rose presses her lips together and sighs through her nose. "Suppose I can insist on getting my own room for now. God, I'm so sick of this." She rubs her eyes until her fingers are grainy from yesterday's mascara, and she groans and wipes them off on one of the napkins. "All this pretending and lying and watching what I say around him. What I do. You can't even call it a life! And now John wants a stupid flat because he's thinking of the future and building a life and having a family and what am I supposed to say? No, John. Don't waste the Doctor's money on that nonsense. You're not a real person and you'll never have any babies. Sorry."

"He is, though."

"No, he's not. Not really."

Jackie takes a napkin and blows her nose, wiping it carefully before tossing the tissue in the bin and rinsing her hands.

"You getting sick?"

"Yeah, like clockwork, ain't it? But never mind that. I had a talk with John the other night. And I don't care what you say, he's real. And he's hurting. And that hurt, it's real, Rose."

"But he's gonna die soon. I mean, that's what it is, right? Death. He's got an expiration date and–"

"Not a very clear expiration date."

"Ugh, don't I know it. But he has one. And when he's gone, the Doctor's gonna have to take care of everything, tie up all John's loose ends, and he hates that. We never stay to clean up the mess. Just seems dumb to go buy a flat and everything."

"And get attached?" Jackie says, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, that's not– No. That's not why, mum. It's not. I wouldn't care about that."

"Then what is it?"

"You know what. I've already told you."

"No, not that. What I meant was," Jackie sits back down, leaning on her forearms over the table, "how does the Doctor treat you?"

Rose frowns. "I dunno. What d'you mean?"

"What's a human life to him? The span of it. It's nothing, is it? He's as old as some of our oldest landmarks, for crying out loud. And how does he treat you? Like his best friend. Like you're the most important person in his life. Why can't you do that to John? Not saying you gotta shag the man. Not saying that. But would it hurt you to actually be his friend? I know he doesn't creep you out anymore. You've got used to it. I can tell. So why can't you just help making his last months alive bearable?"

"I _am_ his friend." Rose purses her lips and tugs down her sleeves, hugging her body.

"No, you're not. Not really. You're always nice to him, but you're not yourself and he knows that cos he knows you."

"But it's so hard! Cos most of the time it's so bloody clear that he's not the Doctor, but sometimes... And the things he says? I can't afford to forget that it's not him and that it's not real, mum. I just can't."

"I know. I know, sweetheart, but he's falling apart, the poor man. Just be his friend. That's all I'm asking."

"Yeah," Rose says, nodding, and slips the fob watch back into her pocket. "Yeah, I'll do better. He deserves better." 

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	4. Don't Say It

**unbeta'd**

* * *

><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 4: Don't Say It_

* * *

><p>John pulls out a photo album from one of Jackie's drawers, walks back to the sofa and settles down with the album in his lap. The first page shows two photos of Rose and an older man. She's smiling, whilst he's using a displeased frown and arms crossed over his chest to tell the world to back the hell off. He looks familiar, that man. Must've been Jackie's boyfriend. Howard, wasn't it? Or an uncle perhaps.<p>

The next two photos disprove those theories, because the person behind the camera has caught them off guard. Rose is beaming up at the man, and he's looking down at her with the softest smile on his lips, eyes warm and tender from affection utterly inappropriate for an uncle or future step father. Is that the infamous Jimmy Stone? Older fellow, bad boy, wannabe rockstar...

John furrows his brow, squinting at the photos. Suppose that could fit. He has a leather jacket, after all.

"Rose, darling?" John calls, and she pops her head through the serving hatch between kitchen and living room.

Ever since their talk, she's smiled at him a little more easily, sat closer to him when they're watching telly, even taken his hand when they stroll. And today over lunch, which they had on their own, thanks to Jackie and Bev spending their Saturday shopping, Rose told him she was ready to get their own flat. Renting one at the Estate, mind you, so she could stay close to her mum, but still… Best news he'd had in, well, since she said yes to his proposal, he supposes. And he really does suppose, which was why he was rummaging through Jackie's drawers in the first place. The details of his proposal to Rose, of their nuptials even, are hazy to say the least, and he was hoping to find wedding photos to help him remember.

He pats the empty spot next to him. "Can you come here for a bit, please."

"Just gimme a mo. Almost done with the dishes."

He nods absentmindedly, already flipping the page and watching the four photos on the next spread. It's of them. Their first Christmas together. John smiles, running his finger over the photo of Rose wearing a pink crown. Her hair was so long back then. How would it feel to run his fingers through those golden tresses instead of over a photo? He knits his brow. How? He knows how. He's done it a million times over. Must have. Hasn't he?

He holds out his hand in front of him, turning it over, inspecting it. Long fingers. Sparse hair over the back of his hand. Thicker over the wrist. It looks brand new. Not a callous. Not a scar. Not even a tan-line under his wedding band, even though he _knows_ they travelled before he got his job.

"Hiya?" Rose says, sitting down beside him. Her thigh pressing against his, her scent filling up his nose make him forget his pondering and he beams at her like the besotted fool he is. Her lips quirk into an amused smirk. "What is it?"

"Oh, right." He shows her the album. "Who's this?"

Her face drains of colour and her smirk turn into a thin, pale line. She tries to snatch the album from him, but he's quicker and moves it to his other side.

"Give it to me!"

"Rose, relax. I was merely trying to take a trip down memory lane. Thought this could contain some of our wedding photos."

"Well, it don't. Now, give it to me."

He strokes her arm, searching her eyes. "Why are you so upset? Was that Jimmy?"

Rose's eyes flash between his, tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Yeah. Yes. And I don't much fancy taking a trip down _that_ memory lane, all right? Now give me the album."

"But there are photos of us in here and I–"

"I don't want to look at them!"

"And I'm not making you! Why are you being so irrational?" His mouth tightens, voice growing harsher, as he releases some of the bitterness and resentment he's held back for months now. "They're just photos. And, yes, I'm quite aware of how painful it is for you to remember _anything_ good about our marriage, but it isn't for me. And if I want to stare for a while at evidence of my wife actually _loving_ me, than I'm bloody well in my right. And if you can't stand that," he stands up, album clutched to his chest, "I'll just do it on my own, in the _guest room_."

He turns to stalk out of the room but stops when Rose whispers that she's sorry. She sounds so small guilt pinches his gut, and when he turns around again, she looks small too. All hunched over and hugging her body, head hanging and cheeks flushed, and it washes away all his anger.

"I'm sorry too, darling," he says and sits down. "If you don't want me to look at–"

"It's fine." She sniffles and wipes her nose. "If you want, we can look at them together?"

"Really?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah."

"Oh, I'd love to!" He beams and opens the album, placing one half on his lap and the other on hers. "Look! Our first Christmas together. D'you remember? And here, New Year's, with Bev and…" He stares at the black-haired, young woman standing next to Rose, face and brown eyes lit up by a sky full of fireworks. "Who's that?"

"Shareen," Rose says, looking at him as though he'd asked her where the sun goes at night. "Shareen Costello? My best friend. Don't you remember?"

"No… No, I don't."

"Wow. Suppose she wasn't important enough, then."

"What?"

"Uhm," Rose twirls one of her hoop earrings, looking away from him, "you know. To you. Your memory's been a bit fuzzy since the accident too. Can't imagine we met her a lot. Cos we were travelling and all."

"Yes, it has been. Rather alarming, don't you reckon? Are you sure that's normal? Shouldn't we make a doctor's appointment after all?"

"No." She returns her eyes to him. "No, we shouldn't."

"Oh, okay. Well, you know best." He points at the photo. "Why hasn't Shareen been around, then? We've been back a few months now."

"Dunno. There's just so much to explain. So much I don't remember."

"Well, I'm sure she'd be happy to see you regardless! You should spend some time with her. Have a little fun." He sweeps his gaze over Rose, over the dark circles under her eyes and the way her clothes hang differently on her body. Some of it is age, of course. She's not a teenager anymore. But some of it… "You should have some fun, Rose. Hm? A bit of fun?"

"Yeah, I guess," she says, biting at her thumbnail.

He flips another page, finding a photo of him standing between Rose and Mickey, arms slung around their shoulders. The guilt returns to his stomach. Although he doesn't remember the details, he knows he could've prevented Mickey's death. Somehow. He knows it in the same way he knows he loves Rose, the same way he knows that Jackie, despite not being remotely old enough to be his actual mother, is the only mum he's ever known. It's so deeply ingrained in him not even the fuzziest memory can erase it.

If only it had worked like that for Rose as well.

"I wish Mickey were still with us," he says, leaning a little closer to her.

"You do?"

"Rose, just cos I was jealous of him didn't mean I wanted him gone. So young too..." John shakes his head. "Always so sad when young people die." He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping his head to Rose's. "Oh, bollocks! Please tell me your mum told you Mickey..."

"Yeah," Rose says, nodding. "Yeah, she did. I miss him. Especially now. Just feels really weird that he's not here."

"Yes, you could use a friend. Which is why I really think you should give Shareen a ring. I'm worried about you, darling. I really am. You always look so tired. So–"

"Yeah," she says, reaching over him to turn another page.

She breathes out at a close-up of the two of them, faces so close together they had to be whispering about something. He doesn't remember what, can't even see enough of the background to suss out where they are, but her hair's up and she's wearing dangle earrings instead of her trademark hoops, and he's sporting a pompadour. Must be a costume party. He can't imagine wearing his hair like that for any other reason.

"I've never seen this one," she whispers, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

He holds his breath lest he scares her again with one of his eager questions. If she's got ahold of a thin thread of the tangled mess her memories have become, he's going to let her unravel it in peace.

"We want back to mum's afterwards. Cos I really wanted to…" She pulls the lock over her pressed-together lips, touching the photo with her other hand, fingertips just barely grazing the plastic protecting it. "It's lovely."

"Isn't it?" he says, heart pounding in his chest. It's there. That look in her eyes. That's how she used to look at him. It's working! "And this?"

His voice trembles, fingers too, when he leads her attention to the other photo on the page. They're sitting together on the sofa. She's sleeping in his arms, jaw lax and cheek pink from the warmth of his embrace and the heavy blanket wrapped around her. Unaware of Jackie immortalising the moment, John's looking down at his beautiful wife, love shining from his eyes.

Rose falls completely silent. She lifts the album and places it fully in her lap, fingers ghosting over the photos. They're all like that. One page after another, snapshots of stolen moments, evidence of how much they loved each other taken by a mum whose disregard for boundaries never has been more wonderful to him.

The hope rises within him, makes it hard to sit still, to keep quiet, to not point and explain and shake her shoulders and, please, Rose, see me, _love_ me. But then she sniffles. A teardrop splashes onto the plastic. Then another. The breath she takes is trembling. The one he releases too.

He cups her shoulder. "Rose, are you all right?"

"Yeah." She sniffles again. "I'm fine. It's just… They're really beautiful, these photos."

He exhales in relief. "You see it, don't you? How happy we were."

"Yeah. You must miss it so much. I know I would, if I could remember it. I'd miss it so, so much. Miss us." She smiles through her tears, lips quivering, eyes never leaving the page. "Sometimes I don't get it. You could have anyone in the entire universe, and you chose me. I'm just a shopgirl. And not even a good one."

"I don't want the entire universe." He slides his hand down her arm until he reaches her hand, weaving their fingers together. "I love _you_."

She slips out of his grip and stands up, hugging the album and wearing the expression of someone trying their very hardest to keep their feelings in check.

"Never say that to me again," she says without looking at him. "Never."

Her cold tone paralyses him and he can't do anything but sit there, watching her leave, hearing her close and lock her bedroom door. He doesn't manage to get up until an hour later when Jackie comes home.

"You just pushed too hard, that's all, sweetheart," Jackie says after he's told her everything. "You know how she gets when she feels cornered. Wasn't easy raising her as a teenager, let me tell you. It's a bloody miracle the walls are still standing considering how often she slammed the doors."

"Are you sure?"

"Know my daughter, don't I? Now, be a dear and help me with my bags."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>When Rose finally comes out, hours later, she goes straight for a hug. It takes him a moment to reciprocate, perplexed as he is by her unusual show of affection, but then it hits him how incredibly daft he is for not enjoying it whilst it lasts. So he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tightly, and hums with contentment.<p>

"I didn't mean never," she murmurs and warmth spreads in his chest. "Just let me say it first, okay? I just wanna say it first."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>"I don't know if I should be doing this," Rose says, standing by the front door with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.<p>

"You need to have some fun, sweetheart."

"But John–"

"I'll look after John. Won't let him out of my sight."

"But I don't even know what to tell Shareen! She doesn't know enough to buy the truth, but she knows enough to know I've definitely not been married to John for– Blimey." Rose blinks. "I don't even know when we got married."

"Just tell her you got married recently and that he hit his head and jumbled all his memories."

Rose rolls her eyes. "Who would believe that?"

Jackie makes an amused, high-pitched noise. "You'd be surprised."

"That what you told Bev, then?"

"Rose, the whole Estate already thought you were together. The leap to marriage isn't that far. And they don't need to know that this John Smith isn't exactly the John Smith they thought the Doctor was, do they? No one needs to know a thing! Worked with the neighbours, yeah?"

"But this is _Shareen_."

"And she's not exactly known for being a blooming genius, is she?"

"I just don't feel good leaving, all right?"

Jackie sighs, but there's so much love and understanding in that little exhalation, Rose lets herself be lead to the kitchen table without a fuss. She's heard it countless times before and knows what follows: a mother-and-daughter talk over a cuppa.

"You know how Bev always used to babysit?" Jackie asks once they've sat down with their tea cups. Rose nods. "Well, what you don't know, is how it started. Cos you were too little to remember and I... Well, never really saw a reason to tell you. But after your father died, it was rough. Didn't have anyone. And I tried so hard being the best mother you could ever have, I forgot to take care of myself. But, luckily, I had Bev. She kicked me out of the flat one day. Told me to go have some fun for once and that she'd take care of you." Jackie laughs through her nose, shaking her head. "Reckon it was the first time I'd done anything without you in over a year. Even worked from home and all. I just didn't wanna leave you. Not after Pete..." She shrugs. "Anyway, went to the pub. And cried into my beer, I did. Cos I missed you so much. Felt horrible, didn't I? And we didn't have mobiles back then, so I couldn't ring Bev every other minute to ask how it was going."

"Did it help, then?"

"Well, not yet. I ended up going home after an hour. But then she did it again the next weekend, Bev did. And that time I stayed for two hours. Then three. And it just became this thing, yeah? One evening every week, Bev babysat so I could get out of the flat. Thing was, it made me a better mum. Cos I was allowed to just be me for a few hours a week. I didn't have to be mum all the time, you know what I mean?"

"I'm not John's mum, though."

"No," Jackie nods and takes a sip of her tea, "but you take care of him. Spend every evening together. Every weekend. Always trying to juggle it all, being his wife without really being his wife. Minding what you say all the time. And you know what? It shows. You need a break, Rose."

"I know."

"Then go have some fun with Shareen. I promise I'll take care of John. I'll text you when he comes home from work. And after he's had his supper. And after I've tucked him in for the night. All right?"

A pleased grin spreads across Jackie's face when Rose chuckles at her joke.

"Oh, all right. I'll go. I'll bring the fob watch, psychic paper, and sonic, all right? And if I notice anything weird, I'll come straight home. And if John says or does _anything_ out of the ordinary, you don't send a text. You phone me, you hear?"

"Yes, Rose. I promise."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>"Morning, sweetheart," Jackie says, handing over the tea cup she prepared when she heard John pad to the loo a few minutes earlier. "Slept well?"<p>

"Funny thing," he lifts the cup to his mouth for a swig, "I actually did. First time since the accident, I didn't have one of those remarkable dreams. No nightmare. Nothing. Slept like a baby!"

"That _is_ strange…" Jackie gives him a once over, but he looks like he always does in the morning: a bit groggy and puffy, and with even more ridiculous hair than usual. "You have those dreams every night, then?"

"Usually, yeah. D'you think it's cos of Rose?" He sits down by the kitchen table, nursing his cup whilst looking out the window. "Maybe knowing she's having some fun for a change helped me relax."

"Hm…" Jackie lifts her own tea cup for a swig. How peculiar. She had to remember telling Rose. "Maybe–"

A shimmering form appears in the kitchen. Right out of thin air. Jackie's tea cup crashes to the floor. Someone screams. It's not her. Her eyes dart to John. It's not him either. He's pressed himself up against the wall, gawping at the thing in horror.

Then shouts and the sound of footsteps rushing over asphalt echo out in the courtyard. Without turning her back to the thing, Jackie moves over to the window and glances outside. Everywhere she looks, shimmering forms are moving among people fleeing in panic. Just like when those shop dummies came to life and started shooting people.

"Phone Rose!" She moves over to the counter and grabs a frying pan. "Phone Rose _now_!"

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	5. Not at All

**unbeta'd**

* * *

><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 5: Not at All_

* * *

><p>JRose is already calling for John when she bursts into the flat. Jackie rises instantly. She's been acutely aware of every noise, every movement around them since the shimmering things appeared. For John, however, it takes a moment to catch on. He was so shocked he couldn't move and she pushed him into a chair and rang Rose herself. He's been sitting in the exact same spot since, staring into nothing.<p>

She's prodded a little, Jackie has. What does he remember? Is he aware they're living in a post-alien-encounter London? But he didn't answer, which is as good an answer as any.

But then his head twitch, as though Rose's voice breaks through to him, and he stands up just in time to catch her when she flings herself at him, hugging him and mumbling about how worried she's been. She pulls back and gives him a onceover, even pats his arms and chest, eyes flitting all over, assuring herself that he's fine and whole and unharmed. When she hugs him again, it's so tightly he should gasp for breath, but he only beams over her shoulder, as though he wants to share with Jackie his joy over this wonderful, wonderful turn of events. Rose was _worried_ about him. About him!

Jackie smiles back but quickly averts her eyes before he sees the pity in them. The pain.

These past few months of home-cooked meals, telly in the evenings, and boardgames on the weekends, of a formerly quiet flat so full of life and noise, have created a cosy bubble of domesticity that makes it so easy to pretend that this will last. That Rose will come around and let John in and not open that damn watch. They could have a life together on Earth, Rose and John. A house, jobs, pets. Children. They could open the watch when he's old, when they've lived a full life together, and the Doctor could take that box of his and leave and save the universe day after day. Because what's a few decades to someone with a time machine? The universe will never even know.

But those shimmering things, the first alien nonsense in months, made a crack in the bubble, forced reality inside, made it burst. Maybe John doesn't see it. He doesn't know what to look for, does he? But under the worry and fear in Rose's eyes, there's excitement. Had John been the Doctor, Rose would've grabbed his hands and ran out of the flat and into danger and solved the mystery and been home in time for tea. And they would laugh, that loud and yet strangely intimate laugh they shared, when they told Jackie all about it, as though the horrors couldn't touch them even when they're in too deep.

"They were everywhere when I woke up," Rose says. "But they didn't do anything…"

Jackie turns around, leans against the counter, blocks out the rest of her daughter's words. 

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Jackie's knitting needles click together in a steady rhythm, creating a soothing melody along with the snores rumbling out from John's room. Exhausted after everything that happened today, he went to bed early, poor thing, and left the door ajar. Jackie used to do the same when she was little, when she was scared. Leaving the door open just enough for a sliver of light, falling asleep to the homey noise of mum washing up. Water splashing. Dishes clanking. Paper rustling whenever daddy, who always sat by the kitchen table to keep mum company, turned another page in whatever whodunit he was reading.<p>

"I have to do something," Rose says, holding the fob watch and rubbing it absentmindedly with her thumb.

The psychic paper and the sonic screwdriver are laid out in front of her at the round table in the corner of the living-room. She's been staring at them for a half hour, as though a steady glare will make them squeak out the answers to her questions.

They returned in the afternoon, those shimmering things did. Ten past four. Stayed for a few minutes, then disappeared and left the world in disarray. Whichever channel they turn on, there are reports about accidents caused by the sudden appearances. Car crashes. Fires. Shootings. Many fatal.

"But if something happens to me," Rose says, "what will happen to the Doctor?"

Jackie looks up from her knitwork, frowning. "To _him_?"

"Yes, to him. If something happens to me, then who's gonna open the watch? And if the watch never opens–" Rose licks her lips, brows tugged together. "The world needs him. The universe does. You know it does. You've seen it. But I can't just sit here and watch when these things invade the Earth."

"Is that what they're doing?"

"It's what they usually do, isn't it?"

She turns over the fob watch in her hands, shoulders slumped and eyes so big and glossy, she looks just like she did when she got lost at the zoo when she was little and Jackie finally found her over by the penguins, wandering among adults too busy with their own lives and children to notice the pigtailed, lonely five year old crying for mummy. Jackie scooped her up then, showering her with kisses, assuring her that mummy would never, ever lose her again. But Rose isn't crying for mummy now and Jackie lost her a long time ago.

"I just wish he was here," Rose whispers. "I don't know what to do. I don't know where to start."

"Maybe you should let someone else do something for a–"

"No."

"What was that organisation called? The one he worked for. UNIT? Can't you–"

"I don't know how to contact them."

"You don't have to. Can't you just, you know," Jackie cut the yarn and grabbed another skein, changing color from pink to pale yellow, "let them handle it? They will, won't they?"

"I can't rely on that," Rose says and picks up the sonic screwdriver, squinting at it. "Maybe if I sonic them… But I don't even know what setting. I only know, like, ten of them and there are hundreds. Maybe more."

"What about that woman, then? Oh, what was her name. The one he used to travel with. Who was investigating things. Mary Jane?"

Rose's eyes widen, open-mouthed smile curling her lips. "D'you think? I mean, yeah, why not? He just handed her the sonic that day at the school. Didn't tell her anything about how to use it and she knew anyway. I bet she knows most of the settings."

A heavy breath leaves Jackie. "That's not what I meant."

"I'll ring her tomorrow. No." Rose nods to herself, weighing the sonic in her hands. "I'll drop by her house. Have a bit of a chat." She glances over her shoulder even though she can't see John's room from where she's sitting. "D'you think he remembers her?"

"I don't know."

"He remembers Mickey but not Shareen. He thinks Mickey's dead."

"Well," Jackie swallows, blinking to clear unwanted tears from her eyes, "I suppose, in a way he is."

"He thought his old self was Jimmy, can you believe it? Jimmy. Who would Sarah Jane be to him? A relative? Old friend? His ex? I still don't understand how his memory works. It's so… unpredictable. I don't get it."

Jackie pauses, looking over her work, counting. Oh, she should've changed to moss stitch two rows ago. She sighs and starts frogging her work. "He's not told you about his dreams, then?"

Rose knits her brow. "Dreams?"

"He's been having them, all this time. Dreams, nightmares. About you and the Doctor."

Rose leans on her elbows over the table. "What?"

"Yeah. Been sleeping poorly, he has. Except last night. When you were away."

Rose's eyebrows twitch, her lips too, and her eyes move between her mother and the fob watch. "When I was away," she says, looking barely aware of words leaving her mouth. "No dreams?"

"That's what he said."

"No dreams when I was away." Rose weighs the fob watch in her hand, thumb following the intricate, engraved patterns. "D'you think it's the watch? Like it feeds him memories? Gets into his dreams somehow."

"I don't know, Rose. It all sounds barmy to me, to be honest with you. I don't know how you've got used to it, that life."

"I can sense…" Rose frowns, shaking her head. "_Something._ Maybe he's made for it, you know what I mean? Like a receptor? No, cos then he would remember it all, wouldn't he? Maybe it lets him remember just some of it?"

"Are you telling me himself's sitting in there, choosing what bits and pieces to shove into John's head at any given moment?"

Rose breathes out a chuckle. "No. I don't think so. But maybe something's bleeding through. Just fragments or something. Maybe…" Rose goes still, mouth dropped open. "Oh, my god." She picks up the psychic paper. "I can't believe I've not tried this before. How daft am I?"

"What?" Jackie lays down her knitting project. "What are you talking about?"

"This." Still holding the fob watch in the other hand, Rose flips the psychic paper open with a flick of the wrist. She sucks in air, bottom lip trembling and nostrils flaring. "Oh, my god."

"What's it say?"

"Rose." She sniffles, swallows. "It's says Rose." Her hand trembles when she brings the fob watch closer to her mouth, eyes locked on the psychic paper. "Doctor," she whispers. "Can you hear me? Please? Just say something. Please." She waits, mouth twisted and eyes glassy. "Please, just say something. Please come back. I need your help. Please." She hesitates, then adds so quietly Jackie barely hears it, "I miss you."

Rose draws in a shuddering breath and turns the psychic paper so that Jackie can see what it says. Letters are written one by one on that paper by an invisible hand in an unfamiliar handwriting. The Doctor's, she supposes. It looks nothing like John's scrawls.

"Rose…" it says. "Not yet." 

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Jackie stretches her tired body, flexing her aching fingers. She moved over to the sofa a couple of hours ago after the things interrupted Rose's fruitless efforts of communicating with the watch by showing up and disappearing again. Nothing like a good crime show to take your mind off things you can control. Rose joined her, sonic and psychic paper tucked into her pocket, and curled up with her head on the armrest, eyes growing heavier despite the thrilling drama on telly. She fell asleep just before they revealed the killer, fob watch clutched to her chest.<p>

"Rose," Jackie says, nudging her daughter. "Wake up, sweetheart."

"Huh?" Rose licks her lips, smacks them, and sits up, hair a mess and eyes barely open. "What time is it? Did the things come back?"

"Midnight. And no. But I'm done and you should go to bed." Jackie holds up the tiny pink-and-yellow cardigan. All she needs to do is sew in the buttons, but she'll do that tomorrow. "What d'you think?"

"Oh, it's lovely. Who's it for?"

"Bev's having another grandchild, but she can't knit so… It's her third, you know." Jackie shrugs, tampering down the wistful smile trying to emerge. "First girl, though. Due in August."

Rose ducks her head, scratching her forehead, combing her fingers through the tangled tresses that fell over her face. "I should go to sleep. Reckon I'll go to Sarah Jane first thing tomorrow morning. Night, mum."

Rose presses a quick kiss to Jackie's cheek and gets up, but Jackie stops her before she's left the room.

"Did it help at least?" she asks.

"Yeah, I guess. It's not really an answer, but at least I know where to look. Reckon I'll check after I wake up, at lunch, and before I go to bed."

"No, not that. I meant Shareen. Did it help, having some fun?"

"Oh." Rose smiles, warm and genuine. "Yeah, Yeah, it helped. Thanks, mum." 

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Jackie has just finished cooking breakfast when John drags himself into the kitchen. His clothes are rumpled, slept in, and there are dark circles under his eyes and stubble around his downturned mouth.<p>

"Oh, look at you," she says, plating sausages and sunny-side-up eggs, yolk wobbling. "Bad night?"

"Fitful, to say the least." He scrubs his hands over his face. "Had nightmares about ghosts killing people left and right. Turning them into more ghosts." His eyes lose focus and he speaks in a breathy voice. "They got you. Rose and I got away, but they got you." He shudders. "I woke up all sweaty at ten past four and they were in my room, those things. Two of them. I was so scared I couldn't even scream. I thought it was all real. Just for a moment. Then I remembered what happened yesterday. And then they disappeared. I went up and checked on you and Rose but you were asleep. And I couldn't fall back asleep until about an hour ago. I just couldn't relax, could I?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Cuppa?"

He shakes his head. "I'll grab a coffee to go on my way to work. I have a lot of emails. Never got any work done last night." He shuffles up to her and kisses her on the cheek. He smells like toothpaste and deodorant. But she never heard the shower running. "Just wanted to say hi before I left. Is Rose up?"

"Not yet. John, isn't that what you wore yesterday?"

He shrugs. "I freshened up. Reckon no one's gonna be very well put together to day, eh? If they even show up."

"Maybe you should stay home, then."

"You think?"

"I don't know what's going on with those things. But I don't like the thought of you being all the way over there when those things return. We're a family. We should stick together."

"_When_ those things return? You think they're gonna show up again?"

"They showed up yesterday evening too, when you were asleep. Ten past ten."

He furrows his brow. "Wait. Ten past. Each time. Ten past ten. Ten past four. Am and pm. That makes it every six hours. That's peculiar."

"John," Jackie curls her hand around his arm, "I want you to stay home. I want you to sit down and have your breakfast. And then you call in sick and you stay right here with us. And that's not up for discussion."

A smile tugs at his lips and he gives her a nod, takes his plate and sits down to eat.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Jackie's doing the dishes when Rose shows up fifteen minutes later and grabs a sausage from the plate waiting for her, eating it with her fingers.<p>

"Morning, mum," she says, mouth full, and nods at the wall separating the kitchen and the bathroom, the sound of running water loud and clear. "Is John home?"

"Yes. I didn't want him to go to work today."

"That's good. We should probably keep him home until we know what this is, I reckon. He needs us to protect him. If something happens to his body, I..." Rose touched the front pocket of her jeans, stroking the fob watch through the fabric. "How did he sleep?"

"He's not a body, Rose."

Rose's mouth tightens and her gaze drops to the floor. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Sometimes I wonder."

She shakes her head and hugs her body. "Don't you dare think you're the only one who cares about John. This is hard for me too, mum. Knowing I'll–" Her swallow is loud and it makes Jackie's throat tighten. "You can be his mother-in-law, his friend. That's all you need to be. But I have to be his wife, his baby-sitter, his, his executioner. So don't you _dare_, mum."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Jackie says, reaching out for Rose, but Rose backs away.

"I'm going to Sarah Jane now before he gets out of the shower," Rose says, already in the hallway, sticking her feet into her trainers. "Tell him I'm checking on Shareen, all right?"

"Wait. He saw them again," Jackie says and Rose stops and turns around, one hand on the door handle. "At four am this morning. And before that he dreamt about, oh, I don't know. Ghosts took me. There were ghosts turning other people into ghosts. And they got me, whilst you two got away. Dunno if that helps in anyway, but I thought you should know."

"I knew it. This is just the beginning, isn't it? It's an invasion. I just know it."

"I suppose. Ten past, they showed up. It's been ten past each time. Six hours apart."

Rose nods slowly. "That's weird, ain't it? Why would they do that?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe they like chaos. I mean, they don't do anything. They just stand there and people go mental, running around like headless chickens. Maybe they can feed on that, somehow. Panic. That energy. You know?"

Jackie blinks. "That doesn't even sound real."

"Yeah, well," Rose says with a shrug, "that all changes when you're travelling with the Doctor. What's real, what's not. Anyway, he had nightmares again, you said? D'you think I should leave the fob watch with Sarah Jane? She's the only person I trust to keep it safe, really. Dunno, I don't wanna let it out of my sight, but it feels cruel to keep it here if it gives him nightmares."

"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetheart. It's mostly just harmless dreams about your travels."

"He tells you about them?"

"Rose," Jackie says, "he's at home all the time. Chooses to spend every moment he can with you instead of getting to know his colleagues. He's not been out with them even once for a pint or any of it. Of course he talks to me. I'm the only friend he's got. _We're_ all he's got."

Rose nods. "Just like the Doctor." The shower turns off and Rose's eye flit to the bathroom door. "I gotta go," she says and darts out of the flat.

Jackie shakes her head and walks back to the kitchen. The Doctor's got a time ship, all of the universe to his disposal, everyone who's ever existed, who will ever exist. He's loved countless of people before Rose, he'll love countless of people after her.

"No, not like the Doctor," Jackie mumbles to herself. "Not at all." 

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	6. Not Ghosts

**unbeta'd**

* * *

><p><strong>THE OTHER FOOT<br>**_Chapter 6: Not Ghosts_

* * *

><p>Sarah Jane looks surprised when she opens the door at eight in the morning and finds Rose waiting outside. Her eyes quickly scan the area and when they return to meet Rose's, there's a much-too sympathetic smile on her lips.<p>

"He didn't leave me," Rose says. "At least not in the way you think."

Sarah Jane frowns in bemusement, but then her eyes land on Rose's ring finger and her mouth forms a surprised little _o_.

"No," Rose says, on the cusp of laughing. "You've got that all wrong as well."

Over coffee, Rose tells her story of how the Doctor became John Smith, human husband and history professor, as succinctly and objectively as she can. Sarah Jane nods along but lets Rose speak without interruption until she's done, then sits quietly for a moment, forehead furrowed in thought.

"I have a lot of questions," she says, tapping her finger lightly against her coffee cup.

"Yeah." Rose cracks a smile. "I bet you do."

"But first thing's first." Sarah Jane puts on the same expression Jackie used when she wanted to have _a talk_ after realising Rose had slept with Jimmy for the first time. "I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, you can come to me. I won't judge you. No matter what you tell me. You see," Sarah Jane reaches over the table and takes one of Rose's hands, "men, _husbands_, often expect things from their wives, things they think they're entitled to. And you're _so_ young. Even women my age can find it hard to say no when they're being coerced and it wouldn't be your fault, not at all, if–"

"It's okay. I know what you're thinking. And I know what you mean about, uhm–" She licks her lips, twirling her hoop earring, and pushes away memories of the silver-tongued Jimmy who always got his way. "It's not like that, though. Not with John. He's very sweet and he respects… Yeah. We've not done anything like that. And I, uhm, I'm not gonna let it happen."

Sarah Jane exhales, nodding with her eyes closed. "Good. I'm glad. Relieved. And when the Doctor returns, please stop by so I can give him the scolding of a lifetime for putting you in this position."

Rose grins. "Get in line. Think mum wants to have a go at him first. Not sure there'll be anything left for you to scold at. Or for me! I wanna have a go too!"

"You should!" Sarah Jane says and they share a laugh. "How long, do you think? Until he can transform."

"Dunno," Rose says with a hopeless shrug. "I finally figured out _how_ I'll know, though. Look." She pulls out the fob watch and the psychic paper from her pockets, holding them in separate hands. "If I touch the watch whilst holding the paper, I can read the Doctor's message."

"Fascinating," Sarah Jane says, eyes narrowed. "May I have a look?" When Rose hands over the Doctor's things, she holds her breath from the anticipation but releases it when Sarah Jane shakes her head and hands them back. "It doesn't seem to work for me. Just a blank piece of paper."

"He said that–" Rose bites her lip. "Apparently I'm slightly psychic? Or, no, not like, uhm, I just have a raised ability, I suppose."

"Ah. How fortunate. And interesting! How does it work? Do you sense things?"

"I don't know." Rose shrugs, shaking her head. "Something happened. A while back. It's sort of a side effect. Makes me a bit… in tune with the TARDIS or something."

Sarah Jane leans back a little, regarding her carefully. "Did the Doctor do something to you?"

"No. I did something. I didn't know, though. I was just desperate to save him, to be with him when–" Rose stops herself when her throat tightens, and takes steady breaths through her nose to calm herself.

"Rose?"

"Everything I've gone through with him, sometimes it's been so tough, Sarah Jane. But it's been happening right then. And I've fought with everything I've got. And I've been tired and hurt. You know what it's like, yeah? You _know_. But when I try to talk to my mum… She doesn't get it. She can't! No one can, not unless they've been through it. But you know. So when I tell you–" Rose blinks away the tears forming in her eyes. "Sarah Jane, nothing's been as hard as this. Nothing. It feels like it's never gonna end."

"Oh, Rose. I can't even imagine what it must be like. What did he say before he changed? Didn't he estimate at all how long it would take?"

"I know I told mum it could take months, so I guess that's what he said. But I don't remember anymore." Rose smiles sadly. "It's just a blur. Cos he was so stressed and then he was in that thing, screaming from the pain, and I was crying and– I just wanted it to end. I just want it to end."

"I'm sorry, Rose."

"Yeah." She sniffles. "Anyway, I was hoping maybe I could leave the watch with you, cos I think it's giving John nightmares. Reckon it's a bad idea if you can't read the message, though."

"Yes, that's true. I'm not sure whether it would be a good idea regardless. What if it supplies John with memories?"

"Yeah." Rose nods. "I've thought about that too. Don't really know how it works. He didn't have time to explain that either."

"Then I think it's for the best that both you and the watch stay close to John."

"Yeah, about that. About me staying close to John and all. I know I have to, but with these… I don't even know what to call them. Those things that's been materialising, yeah? Aren't they weird?"

"Mm. I find them quite intriguing. Showing up like clockwork all over the world, every six hours?" Sarah Jane hums, brow furrowed. "They appear everywhere. Walls, doors, locks, security codes, alarms… None of it matters. You can't keep them out. You can't hide from them."

"They've not hurt anyone so far, though."

"No, because so far, they're not in solid form. But who knows what they'll do once they materialise properly."

"Yeah? You think that's what they're trying to do? I mean, if they could get in anywhere, all over the world. We wouldn't stand a chance! They're invading, aren't they?"

"I certainly hope not, but I have a feeling it's best to assume so. And I also think," Sarah Jane pauses, catching Rose's gaze and giving her the kind of smile that tells Rose she's about to hear something she won't like, "you should let me investigate."

"Yeah." Rose sighs. "It's what I thought you'd say."

"You need to protect John. If these creatures can materialise properly, none of us will be safe. And John will need you. _The Doctor_ will need you."

"I know. Just so bloody typical. The one time I leave John for the night, this happens. And if something happens to the Doctor's body…" Rose shakes her head and shivers. "But I won't like it."

"I know. I wouldn't either, but I think it's for the best. We can't handle this the way the Doctor normally would, because we don't have his resources. We can't afford to be reckless."

"Yeah. Will you keep me updated?"

"I'll ring you every night. I promise."

"Thanks." Rose shakes her head in exasperation. "I'm so gonna kill the Doctor when this is all over."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Despite their incorporeal state, the shimmering things manage to kick people in the arse and stop their aimless shuffling through life. Cults form. Psychics sit on panels on telly. Preachers and prophets take to the street. The end is nigh! The dead are walking the Earth and Doomsday will arrive before you know it! And people act, ignoring the consequences. They marry and break-up and quit their jobs and follow their dreams and do things they've postponed for too long. They rob and loot and vandalise. They hurt. They kill. And shag all over the place, too, according to Mrs. Park, three doors down. Whenever Jackie passes her, the elderly woman stops her and does a poor job at hiding her excitement behind a scandalised mask when she shares her anecdote about the latest amorous couple she's caught in the act.<p>

"I think she seeks them out," Jackie says, sitting at the round table in the living room, playing cards with John. "Or she makes it up. Ain't heard anyone else go on about it. Everyone just talks about the violence."

"Yes, it really has skyrocketed, hasn't it?" John nods thoughtfully, examining his hand. "Maybe buying a flat in a nicer neighbourhood wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, yeah? What do you think, Rose? Renting a flat here doesn't seem sensible to me anymore."

She's by the window, looking out over the courtyard. "I hate it," she says, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. "I hate just standing here, watching the world go to hell. A group of kids beat up Mr. Stevens yesterday on his way home from work. Took his wallet. His mobile. Estate kids never touch people from the Estate. We care for our own. But now? Looking at the news, it's like..." She turns around, protecting her body with her arms wrapped around her waist. "I've seen so much pain and suffering. Never thought I'd see it here on Earth, in my time, in my city. It doesn't feel real. We need to do something or it's only gonna get worse."

"Yes, I agree," John says, and for a moment, hope lights up Rose's eyes. "Something has to be done! But you can't seriously mean _we_ should do something? You, me, your mother?"

The spark in Rose's eyes die, leaving them distant and dull.

"We have no skills, no knowledge, no weapons. We don't even know what they are. Yes, something needs to be done, but not by us. It's a job for the authorities."

Rose breathes in through her nose, then open her mouth as though to speak, jaw tense. Then she hesitates, but Jackie can see the meaning written clearly in her daughter's face: the Doctor would _never_ hide like a coward when people are suffering. She huffs out a breath and turns back to the window.

"I hate this. I hate being trapped like this. It's–" Her mobile ringing cuts her off. "I gotta take this. It's… Shareen," she says and moves out of the room without looking at the display.

"You might be right," Jackie says to John once they're alone. "About the flat, I mean. People have gone mad. Never seen anything like it. We're not safe here, we're not. Maybe a cottage in the countryside? Wouldn't that be nice? With a little garden, away from all..." She ducks her head, shaking it. "Oh, listen to me. I know you want Rose for your own and–"

"Stop it," he says with a soft voice, stroking her arm. "If we move, you're coming with us. I'm not leaving you here to fend for yourself."

She nods, eyes stinging with tears, and sniffles. "You're such a nice man." She cups his cheek and looks into his young, bright eyes that holds none of the Doctor's weariness and pain. "I wish–" Her voice breaks when a lump forms in her throat. She swallows it down and pats his cheek before picking up her cards again. "We're lucky to have you."

"Yeah, we are," Rose says. They snap their heads in her direction. She stands in the doorway, her jaw set with steely determination. "You're right, John. If we can't do something to stop it, we need to at least keep ourselves safe. But first we wait, all right? Shareen said things are gonna calm down soon. And if they don't? We might need to move."

"How does Shareen know that?" John asks.

"She has her sources." Rose looks firmly at Jackie. "Right, mum?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That's the plan, then."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>A few days later, the government has taken charge and London now reminds Rose of the parallel version with its curfews and patrolling armed soldiers. It does little to soothe the restless John. A coworker is arranging to leave the country to teach scuba diving in Thailand, a lifelong dream of his apparently, and wants to let his suburban house.<p>

"Just like that?" Rose asks. "Just leave."

Jackie snorts and gives her a pointed look.

"It's common," John says. "A lot of people are leaving. Makes you think, doesn't it? The impending doom. What are we prioritising? And why? You hate your job? Tired of the dull London weather? All this grey… These things are everywhere anyway. You can't run away, but you can make your last months, weeks, days? You can make it better. Or... " He swallows. "Shorter. People do that as well."

Jackie shudders. "Oh, don't talk about that, John. It's too horrible to think about. I can't stand it."

Rose's mobile vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out. Even though no progress has been made so far, a thrill still shots through her when she sees the name on the display. It's Sarah Jane. "It's Shareen," Rose says and walks to her bedroom, closes the door behind her.

When she answers, her voice trembles with hope. But Sarah Jane has nothing new to report today either.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Week two, one of the more famous British psychics, Stephanie "Fifi" Connelly, is fortunate enough to get a celebrity as her spokesperson. The famous actor spreads the word and soon the media listens, spreading the word further.<p>

"They're ghosts," Fifi says on a primetime talk show. "Our loved ones. All the people we've lost. I can feel them! I feel them reaching out, trying to connect with us. And you would too, if you only opened yourself up. We're lucky." She nods. "They're here to share their wisdom. To help us and guide us. Make our lives better."

"And how," the hosts says, "should one go about communicating with these ghosts?"

"I've written all about it in my book!" She holds up a copy in front of the cameras. "Only £15 if you pre-order online. And if–"

Rose scoffs and turns off the telly. "She was quick. How's it even possible?"

"Well," John says, "people have their ways when there's money to be earned."

"What if she's right, though?" Jackie tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed. "What if they are ghosts? And we're all running around like headless chickens instead of taking this gift–"

"Oh, my god, mum. No. That Fifi woman is bonkers. Don't listen to her."

Jackie holds her hands up. "I'm just saying! It's not like they're a violent lot, is it? Is it really that wrong? That they're giving people hope."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"No," John says, index finger raised, "take a look out the window. The world's calming down. I think you have a point, Jackie."

Rose rolls her eyes and snorts. "Of course, you do. Sometimes I'm, like, do you two wanna be alone?" Her eyes widen and mouth falls open, but she closes it again with a sharp intake of breath. Her mother and husband are gawping at her. "That came out wrong!" She points at them. "I did not mean it like that. Oh, my god." She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's disgusting."

"My mum hated Pete." Jackie's lips are tight and her thin eyebrows raised, eyes downcast. "He tried to charm her, though. As was his way. And it only made it worse. You're lucky, Rose, that we get on."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry." Her mobile vibrates and she gets up to leave, because it's always Sarah Jane at this hour.

"Shareen again?" John asks when she passes him.

There's something in his eyes, in his voice. Something she remembers from her time with Jimmy, whenever she spoke a little too long with another bloke, smiled a little too wide: a forced casualness to his tone; a quiet calculating look examining her behavior to see whether there's something to be worried about.

"Yeah, why?" She pulls out her mobile. "Wanna talk to her?"

"No," he shifts in his seat, "just asking."

Rose sighs and kneels before him, shuffling in between his knees and looking up at him. "I can tell what you're thinking, but I'm not seeing anyone else. And I don't want to either. I could _never_. There's no one else for me. All right?"

He shrugs, bottom lip jutting out, and she can't help but smile at his adorable little face.

Sometimes when she's trying to sleep, she ponders the nature of her confusing, complex feelings for him. What would she have felt for him had she met him without ever knowing the Doctor? The warmer feelings she does have for him, are they a result of the role she's forced to play, or lingering love for the Doctor, or is it all him, John Smith? Or, her usual conclusion, all of the above?

Since the ghosts started appearing, with every day he's looked less, sounded less, acted less like the Doctor. And it's made her both resent him and care for him just that little bit more. She brushes her thumb over his freckled cheek and ignores the twinge in her chest she always gets when she does something with John she's never done with the Doctor, ignores the questions that always pop up in her mind: would it feel the same? Will she ever know?

"John," she says softly, then presses a kiss close to the corner of his mouth and leaves before she can see his reaction.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>"Yeah?" Rose whispers into her mobile.<p>

"I have news," Sarah Jane says.

"Oh, my god. Okay?"

"Have you heard the ghost theory?"

"Yeah." Rose laughs self-deprecatingly through her nose. "It's funny. Feels like I've been living with a ghost for months, now, and here they are, popping up all over the place."

"They're not ghosts."

"Yeah, didn't think they were. Walking dead. Werewolves. Vampires. It's all been aliens and I reckon these are too."

"They might be, yes, but I'm not so sure. Have you ever heard of Torchwood?"

"I… Yeah. I think so? Me and the Doctor once stayed at an estate called Torchwood House. In Scotland."

"This isn't an estate. It's a secret organisation that desperately wants us to believe the ghost theory. And it's easy to believe as well. You've heard the reports of people walking through them, that eerie feeling they get, of course ghosts is the best explanation to feed us."

"Wait, what? Feed us? Why would they want us to think that?"

"I'm not sure. It's all very hush-hush, but I've learnt they're the ones responsible for the phenomenon, and that they have Fifi Connolly on their payroll, and that actor too, to hide their experimenting. They want the people placated. I'm not sure whether I can dig out much more. I run into resistance no matter where I turn. Torchwood has ties both to the Queen and the government. It's quite the well-protected secret. Except in Cardiff. For some reason."

"Government, eh? Did I ever tell you I sort of know Harriet Jones?"

"The Prime Minister! Really?"

"Yeah." Rose takes the psychic paper from the back pocket of her jeans, slapping it against her palm. "Reckon I'm gonna request an audience."

"Will she listen?"

"I'll make her listen." Rose licks her lips, sucks the bottom one into her mouth, teeth sinking into it as she thinks. "I've got an idea."

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


End file.
